Chapter Text
If you had asked Mu Qing a couple of years ago what he thought of Heaven’s Annual Feast, he probably would’ve said something along the lines of an over glorified and unnecessarily lavish event with no substantial meaning or purpose. A night for the gods to flaunt their achievements and to get drop dead drunk.
Every year Mu Qing dreads this event, finds a table far from the crowd, and begrudgingly partakes in the small talk of other attendees as he waits for the night to come to end.
He never looks forward to these sorts of gatherings, but he has never experienced such a loathing for it as he is now. The addition of Crimson Rain to His Highness's side was already guaranteeing a headache, but Feng Xin making amends with his ghost family and having said ghost family attending with him is making him feel a certain way.
Not the butterflies in the stomach when he sees Feng Xin certain way, but the I feel sick to my stomach and want to puke and cry in bed certain way. Safe to say, true to his 800 year old tradition he was not looking forward to tonight.
To be fair he is quite a bit at fault for his current predicament. Instigating fights at every opportunity is not the most obvious declaration of love, but at the same time what else could be done. Feng Xin would never look at him with the same fondness and love as he is now showing to Jian Lan.
Not that Mu Qing would know since he is definitely not staring at him.
Obviously there were better ways to handle this fragile connection, Mu Qing knows this. If he had tried maybe they could’ve been friends, maybe things could’ve been different. Yet, as things currently stand fighting is the only way to have his undivided attention, the only way to feel his touch. The cuts and bruises left are remainders of Feng Xin’s presence in his life, and he lets them litter his skin to hold on to that notion.
Because sometimes Feng Xin feels so far. So so far. Like water slipping through his fingers, never staying long enough, never truly belonging in his hands. He’s from another world. But not just him. All of them, Mu Qing supposes. Possibly everyone here is from a different world, even Hua Cheng who grew under similar conditions.
He knows that heaven is an honour, that this long and bountiful life ahead of him right now is brimming with possibilities. He no longer sleeps on cold stacks of hay, no longer works or gets beaten black or blue everyday. No longer worries about whether he has enough money, or where food will come that day.
Even by just looking on at the never ending rows of table and tables of food, he knows he is privileged. Yet, somehow it feels like a punishment. Ironic how he’s in a hell made in heaven. Maybe he was fated to be like his father, maybe eternal punishment is written in the books for someone like him. The son of a sinner. He wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case.
Feng Xin is now laughing at something said. They look so happy as if they popped out of a painting. Is he allowed to feel bitter about this?
He remembers being accused of trying to sacrifice Feng Xin’s baby for his cultivation. The child's teeth marks have been imprinted on his skin, a reminder of the pain of loving and not being loved back. The accusation was annoying sure, but the part that hurt was the easy acceptance of it all. The fact that the people he considered close could think he was capable of something like that. The fact that without any evidence he was convicted of such a crime.
Guilty until proven innocent if your Mu Qing. He wonders if his own dad was such a deplorable person or a victim of circumstance. He doesn’t ponder on that for long though. As thoughts on socio-economic inequality don't belong in the presence of the privileged. It’s a blight on their existence. A parasite that doesn’t belong in their perfect lives. Recognising that their whole lives are based on the oppression and suffering of others would ruin the illusion.
Even the best of them like Xie Lian who wanted to help others never wanted to sacrifice his title and prestige. Even when they had lost everything, he would never take up Mu Qing’s suggestions, prioritising his honour and ideals over everything.
The people who made a living at the jobs they scorned at, were they dishonourable? Mu Qing doesn’t know. Doesn’t want to know, because he knows he wont like the answer.
‘Boo.’
Mu Qing breaks free from his thoughts.
‘What do you want?’ He says, what he really means is leave me alone to wallow in my self despair and bother someone else.
Somehow his words draw a steady laugh from the person behind him. His breath fanning over Mu Qing’s neck.
‘Hmmm, what do I want?’ Pei Ming draws out.
Really was there no pretty woman here to draw his attention elsewhere. Tonight he didn’t have the energy to deal with him.
He’s about to roll his eyes, but halfway through he sees Feng Xin’s arm draped over Jian Lan’s shoulders and suddenly can't seem to want to follow through with the action. Can't seem to want to hide himself behind a mask of indifference anymore.
‘I want you to have a drink.’ Pei Ming interrupts his thoughts again.
‘What?’ He’s about to bring up his cultivation when he's interrupted, again.
‘The best way to drown heartache is with alcohol.’ He says as he holds the cup.
‘What--‘
‘God of Love, remember?’
He could protest, could refuse and deny and run away. But really he’s had enough of bad nights and worse days and getting blackout drunk sounds really inviting right now, so he indulges tonight.
Takes the drink and drowns it in one shot.
Pei Ming smiles wide and bright at him, and he thinks maybe tonight doesn’t have to be as bad as he thought it would be.